Dispatches from Miles Above Earth (Originally written en route to Philadelphia from Dallas on August 27th)


3:05pm. I am sitting on the plane, on the runway, stomach growling. I haven't eaten since 8am. Having left work at noon for the airport, I had just planned on grabbing lunch in the terminal before boarding the plane. But judging from the underwhelming food selection in the US Airways terminal of DFW Airport, extensive research told US Air execs that herbivores don't fly. My food choices consisted of McDonalds, the generically named Texas BBQ, and my personal favorite, Hot Dogs Across America, which implies an odd connection between spare animal parts and world peace. That's something I'd really like to know more about. So unfortunately, US Air never got the memo that not everyone in Texas is on a steady diet of lips and assholes. Ok then, chocolate chip cookie for lunch, it is.

5:18pm. I don't mind his constant screaming. I don't even mind picking up the toy airplane that the terror seated in front of me dropped once or twice (or 9 times in three hours, I would come to find out).* But I do take offense to the overwhelming stench of a newly soiled diaper I am being subjected to. Apparently in Peru, or whatever country is home to the family in front of me, it is customary to change a child's dirty diaper not in the bathroom but on the airplane seat. This has been filed away in my internal "Why Not To Have Children" folder. Fresh cookies, a field of flowers...it's no use. The smell of shit is in the air and there is nothing I can do about it.

5:22pm. It's a fascinating excercise, seeing how long you can go without breathing. 30,000 feet above ground, enclosed in an airplane filled with the scent of a violently soiled diaper, the answer is - not long enough.

6:30pm. Get me off this fucking plane.

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* Written for effect and should not be taken seriously. I do mind both constant screaming and picking up a child's toys every 20 minutes. Very much. Very very much.

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The Sox were off last night, so I got to watch Real Time with Bill Maher, which I haven't seen in ages. It was genius as always, including this gem on the new scent Hummer is producing:

Hummer is now also a men's fragrance. They say the scent is a masculine combination of leather, sandalwood and a bald man's tiny cock.

Brilliant.

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4 and a half games. I love the way that rolls off the tongue. Here we come, you ugly pinstriped bastards.** Get ready.

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**Mike Mussina is exempt. He is a superhot pinstriped bastard. Sue me, my hormones are colorblind.

I was in a meeting yesterday morning, and the topic of conversation was the playoff aspirations of the Texas Rangers. They contacted our station recently to see if we had any interest in buying playoff tickets. Of course, we hadn't budgeted for it, because back in January we thought there was a better chance of Dallas becoming its own country than the Rangers making the playoffs. So the loud foreign sales manager says, "It would be great if dey could stop dis current slide, but we know Meredith wouldn't like dat. Dose damn Red Sox!" I casually remark that it doesn't matter to me since the Red Sox are going to win the division, to which he balks and looks at me like I've just sprouted a second head right before his very eyes. "You are crazy! Da Red Sox aren't as good as da Yankees and never have been!" he says in his Balky Bartokomous-like accent. I clench my fists and tell him that this year's Yankees squad isn't nearly as good as their record indicates and that the Sox could very well overtake the division lead, given Giambi's absence and the current MFY pitching situation. "Well whad aboud all dose errors dey have?" Now completely riled up, I hold on to the edge of the conference table as to not launch myself over it, and tell him that since the Nomar trade, the team has improved significantly in terms of defense. He laughs, as only a Yankee fan can, and dismisses my claim with a shake of the head.


I take a deep breath. Here is my chance.


At that moment, all of the anger I had suppressed towards the sales department in the last 6 months filled my belly, mixing with all the horrible thoughts I had ever had about the MFY and their fans, and I exploded. For the next 3 minutes, I was Will Ferrell, blacking out and out-debating James Carville in Old School. I was disproving theories left and right, spewing facts I didn't even know I was aware of.

When the dust settled and tempers were calmed, the meeting went on as if nothing had happened. But we both knew. I knew.

In that cold conference room in an 18-story building in downtown Dallas, we were good vs evil. The rich sales manager vs the poor promotions girl. Evil Empire vs The Good Guys. For one shining moment, history was just that and the underdog was victorious.

The Red Sox are currently 5.5 games behind the Yankees. They're playing near-perfect baseball, while the Yankees are treading water and clinging to their early success.

Every dog has his day. Every underdog has his moment in the spotlight.

This year is ours.

Keep The Faith.

That's the motto of the 2004 Boston Red Sox. It's plastered on billboards, repeated on TV commercials, and printed on t‑shirts. Everywhere we go, Red Sox Nation is reminded to keep the faith and never give up on the very thing that unites us.

There is no doubt that the Red Sox promotion department thought long and hard before choosing those three words to represent this year’s team. The fact that they decided on the word "faith" fascinates me, and not only because it happens to be my middle name.

Growing up, I always used to joke that sports were like a religion in my house. But when I began to question my own religion, and organized religion as a whole, I realized how true this was.

I was born into a family that loved sports. My parents have had Flyers season tickets for over 30 years, so I've been going to games since I was a fetus. Hockey was always a religion in my household; family nights were spent biting our fingernails in front of the TV during a playoff game, and special occasions were always planned to include the viewing of important sporting events. Some of my earliest childhood memories involve the local sports teams. I am fuzzy on the details of my Bat Mitzvah, but I remember my first hockey game like it was yesterday, despite the fact that it preceded my religious rite-of-passage by at least 10 years. (For the record, the Flyers lost to the Islanders on a goal scored in the last second of Overtime. An appropriate introduction to the world of sports I would come to know and love? I’ll say.)

During high school, I began to question my religion, and the role of organized religion in society. While I was extremely proud of my background, it seemed unfair that I should be forced to believe in a particular set of rules and ideas simply because I was born Jewish. I remember hearing a woman on the news talk about surviving a bank robbery; she had been lying on the floor of the bank, confident that Jesus would save her. And sure enough, when it was over, she thanked Jesus for deciding she was worthy of living. This struck me as odd; were the two bank tellers who were fatally shot that afternoon NOT worthy of saving? How could she be sure, as she was facedown on that cold cement, that Jesus was there to save her?

Since then, I've never been able to accept organized religion into my life. I've always seen faith in God to be blind faith driven by passion and used as a crutch. I have no problem with other people using religious for these very reasons, but it is never something I have bought into. And in the back of my mind, I’ve always thought that overly religious people were weak-minded for showing such blind faith.

But isn't that exactly what sports are for me, and for millions like me? What is faith based on? A series of historical events? A scientific formula? No. It’s based on hope. I have faith that the Red Sox will win a world series in my lifetime. I have faith that I will see the Flyers parade down Broad Street with the Stanley Cup. We hope and pray that they don't let us down again...we simply will ourselves to believe that this time, it will be different. Because it must be different. We don’t want to consider the alternative. We can’t.

Sports are my organized religion.


Talk to someone who isn’t a sports fan, and they’ll tell you that sports are nothing more than overpaid athletes playing childhood games. They see sports as trivial, and less important than music, books, or a variety of other hobbies. So what is it about sports that we love so much? Why have sports become an organized religion for so many of us?

I find it hard to put into words exactly what I love about sports.

Sports give a sense of belonging. In a world filled with billions of people that all have completely different feelings, thoughts, and emotions, it’s easy to feel lonely at times. Sports provide you with a community of people that have suffered exactly as you have suffered at the worst of times, and that will celebrate with you at the best of times.

Some have church. We have Fenway. Some have Christmas, the Pope, and midnight mass. We have the Stanley Cup finals in June, when it’s warm enough for shorts but we don’t think twice about wearing our heavy hockey jerseys. We have the NFL playoffs in January, when we sit on cold metal benches in subzero temperatures for 4 hours watching our team battle it out for a trip to the promised land. Some have Matthew, John, and Judas. We have Pedro vs Clemens, Mario Lemieux, and Bill Buckner.

I would rather watch Keith Primeau deek around opposing defensemen and score a shorthanded goal on a wicked slapshot than stare at the Mona Lisa. I would rather see Brian Westbrook return a punt for 85 yards for a touchdown than score front row tickets to Phantom of the Opera. I would rather hide my head in my hands and nervously await a pitch to Derek Jeter with a full count in the 9th inning of a tie game than nervously listen to my own heartbeat during the climax of a horror movie. The laughter, tears, and intensity that sports provide are second to none, and that is what keeps us hooked. That is what reels us in year after year, heartbreak after heartbreak, celebration after celebration.

Sports are all about passion, and a life without passion is not a life worth living. Whether it is sports, music, church, good food, sex, or charity that drive you, give yourself over to your passion 100% and your life will have been well‑lived.


Keep the Faith?


We wouldn't have it any other way.

I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.
I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.
I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.
I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.
I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.
I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.
I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.
I will not say the Red Sox can win the division.

It was first spoken amidst hugs and cheers when Billy Mueller went yard on Mariano Rivera that magical Saturday night in Fenway, and I said it again 2 hours and 8 Dollar Drafts later in a dark, smoky corner of Boston Billiards. I proclaimed it the following night while walking out of Fenway, drunk on another Sox victory over the Yankees and a couple of overpriced Fenway beers. It's been said a dozen times since then, more out of hope than belief. But this is the last time I will say it this season, because this time it's for real. This is it. We have approached the turning point of the 2004 season, the part of the year when everything comes together and the group of 25 guys we have spent the last 5 months loving and hating, simultaneously, become a Team. With a capital "T." It has happened, and the Red Sox aren't looking back.

Last night's game perfectly encapsulated all of the highs and lows of this current Sox season. An early Sox lead had all of Red Sox Nation giddy with the thoughts of George Steinbrenner preparing to launch himself out of a window of Steinbrenner Manor, which probably looks something like that place in which Diane West discovered Edward Scissorhands after an Avon call gone wrong. Then an unstable Sox pitcher, in this case, Derek Lowe, gives up a three run shot and all of a sudden, RSN is looking over its collective shoulder. Three innings later, a pitcher who should have already been knee deep in Irish Spring and Head and Shoulders gives up a go-ahead 2-run homerun and in the blink of an eye, the Sox have lost their once-comfortable lead.

Sound familiar, yet?

But wait, there's more. And it gets better.

The next inning, Manny Ramirez and David Ortiz go yard on the first two consecutive pitches, and the Sox are back on top. The next 30 minutes were full of nail biting, pacing, and Pepto Bismol chugging. We clutched our stomachs as Manny Ramirez slipped on the wet outfield grass and what should have been a man on first with two outs became runners on first and second with one out. "Here it comes, " we thought. "This is how it always ends." But then an amazing thing happened. With baited breath, we watched as a previously-shaky reliever somehow found his way out of the inning, and our reliable closer came in and sealed the victory.


The boys from Boston are currently 5.5 games behind the dreaded Yankees. Last night they emerged victorious in their one-run battle, while the Yankees weren't so lucky in their own. The tide has turned. There is something in the air, and everyone in Red Sox Nation can taste it.

It's late-August, the Sox are nipping at the Yankees' heels, Manny is at the plate, and Ortiz is on-deck. We know how this usually ends, but this time - it's different. We can taste it.

The Sox are off today, but I am not. Aren't you lucky.

I finally saw Garden State last weekend. I can't think of a better time to have seen a movie about a mid-twentysomething going through a quarter-life crisis. And I can't imagine I will ever again see a movie in which the Shins are so prominently featured. Very cool. Oh, and Zach Braff. He's Jewish. I'm Jewish. He's from Jersey. I'm from Philly. He likes the Shins and Postal Service. I like the Shins and Postal Service. Why we are not dating right now is beyond me.

(But seriously. Have you seen those lips? Goddamn.)


Last night I saw a screening of Finding Neverland, which is the story of how JM Barrie was inspired to write Peter Pan. I knew I would love this before it even began because Peter Pan is one of my all time favorite stories, and it certainly did not disappoint. Johnny Depp was fucking brilliant (which is slightly more impressive than just plain old brilliant) as always, and did I mention he was rocking the eyeliner the entire film? Also impressive were the three kids who star in the movie. There's generally no bigger crime, in my mind, than giving kids gimmicky, smartass lines in movies. (See: Jerry Maguire) It's an automatic tuneout for me. But these kids pulled it off, which means I have to reword the aforementioned rule. There's generally no bigger crime, in my mind, than giving kids gimmicky, smartass lines in movies - unless they are British. In that case, anything goes.

I did a good deal of thinking after the movie about my Peter Pan complex and why I am so afraid to grow up. I realized that the reason I don't want to have kids is because when you have kids, that makes you the adult. And there is nothing I fear being more....

"It's all about the ticking clock inside the crocodile, isn't it, Mr Barrie? The clock is ticking for all of us..."

The director of the movie was in attendance for a special Q&A afterwards. He's the guy who directed Monster's Ball, which means there were lots of film students on hand, competing to ask questions that would show the world just how talented they are. There were a million genius moments, but here's my favorite part.

Q: What was the symbolism behind the white hat you had Johnny Depp wearing in the scene on the park bench?

A: Uh, there was no symbolism. JM Barrie used to wear hats like those, and we thought it was a funny hat, so we used it.


(Dead silence.)


Brilliant. It reminded me of college, where 75% of the kids I went to school with were film students who were convinced they were one bong hit away from writing a masterpiece. Good times.

Homeruns and perfect games get all the attention, but there isn't anything more fun in baseball than winning a game in the bottom of the ninth. Last night the Sox did just that thanks to Orlando Cabrera, who finally came through when it mattered most and won the game with a ninth inning double off the wall, scoring Johnny Damon from 1st.

I want nothing more than for Orlando Cabrera to succeed as a Sox shortstop, to become more than any of us hoped. I don't think anyone can fathom the enormous amount of pressure that comes with playing in front of the Boston fans after treading water in Montreal for years, as well as taking the place of one of the most beloved players in Boston history. I get irritated, like every other fan, when Cabrera grounds out with the bases loaded to end an inning, but then I read things like this:

"I wanted to do my job right away," said Cabrera, who the Sox said was brought in to upgrade the defense. "I wanted to make a good impression."

I feel for the guy, and hope that his newfound confidence boosts his BA a bit.


There's yet another article on Boston.com that touches Manny's relationships with his teammates and his positive effect on their performance. It's almost devastating at this point to think of what this team would be like had Manny been claimed off of waivers all those months ago. This new and improved Manny seems to be just as close to an MVP as Varitek, and I don't think that's something any of us could have predicted.

This quote needs no introduction.
"I just put my head down and ran and was paying attention to Dale [Sveum] over at third," said Damon. "I knew there was going to be a good chance that he'd wave me in."


Genius.


And here's a link to an amusing Gabe Kapler interview from earlier today. The words "my boyfriend would probably be Millar" actually came out of his mouth. There's a dig at Schilling, homosexual overtones in the Sox locker room, and yet another nickname for El Bencho. Thanks for this magic, Bob and Dan. You still haven't introduced me to Gabe, but I'm willing to forgive.

Part One

Part Two

The Killers - Hot Fuss



Interesting Sox game last night that had a little bit of everything: a near-fight in the field, a retaliatory HBP, strong pitching (welcome back, DLowe), tons of runners LOB (in typical Sox fashion), runs scored at crucial times, an Orlando Cabrera meltdown, a near blown-game from DLowe, a beautiful two-inning save for Foulke, and of course, the Derek Lowe face.

So Mientkiewicz was at 2nd last night as a result of Youkilis' recent leg injury. Sure, it was a risky move, and Francona is generally an idiot, but I had faith because...well, I won't lie. I had faith because my Doug Mientkiewicz crush has reached epic proportions and I don't see how he could possibly do anything wrong. Ever. (Except hitting into a DP with the bases loaded and one out.) But, there you have it.

Anyway, Mientkiewicz goes for the tag in the 2nd inning and gets taken out by Carlos Delgado. He immediately gets in Delgado's face, swearing and spitting and doing all those other things that are supposed to repulse women but were, instead, directly responsible for naughty dreams I may or may not have had last night. The guy is a dirt dog to the core and I absolutely adore him.

There's only one problem; one thing standing in the way of Mientkiewicz reaching the heights that Tek, Pedro, and Johnny have reached in my red sox fandom. And no, it's not his batting average.

Mientkiewicz needs a nickname.

This guy has to have the worst nicknames in all of sports. Snook? Minky? Minty? He is not a cartoon character, for fuck's sake, he is a tough, acrobatic baseball player that is not afraid to get dirty. And none of those names do him justice. The Red Sox are a team of fantastic nicknames - but this guy could be the ultimate challenge. SoSH has come up with some genius ones, as always, but nothing that I can see myself screaming at Fenway after a routine Mienktkiewicz diving grab on the 1st base line. I can not keep typing 'Mientkiewicz' every time I want to talk about my new favorite first baseman, so something is going to have to be done.
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Claudia informed me last night that the July 27th Sox/Orioles game that was rained out had been resceduled for Sat, Oct 2nd at 1pm, which happens to be the weekend of our Red Sox pilgrimage to Baltimore. So a quick phone call later, we'll now be taking in the Friday night game at Camden Yards, as well as the Saturday doubleheader. It. is. on.
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Oh, Texas Rangers, how do I hate thee? Let me count the ways. You ruined my birthday weekend by sweeping the Red Sox while I was in attendance. You have the nerve to be tied with the Red Sox in mid-August, making a mockery of my pre-season predictions. You have the ability to keep the Red Sox out of the playoffs, despite the fact that your starting pitching is a joke and your bats have been asleep for weeks. But there's more. Because of your winning record and poorly situated ballpark, I get stuck in Rangers traffic every night on the way home from work, which causes me to miss the first 30 minutes of the Sox games.

You will pay. Oh yes.

Speaking of ballpark traffic, when I lived in Boston, I lived 10 yards from the Fenway T-stop. There were days I would sit in the Park Street station for 30 minutes, unable to get home because of the Sox fan-packed trains.

I never thought I'd say it, but now I really miss those days.

Last night I went to a friend's wedding. At one point I was standing at the bar watching the Rangers game, and a guy I'd never met approached me. "You're watching the baseball game?" I told him I was, in fact, watching the baseball game, to which he responded, "You've got to marry me."

So, I guess this is as good a time as any to delve into 'Girls Who Like Sports' talk.

There seem to be two groups of men out there: those who love women that can share a love of sports with them, and those who are frightened or put-off by them. There doesn't seem to be much middle ground there. I'm focusing on the latter, because they are far more interesting.

First off, background info that may be pertinent. I've always gotten along better with guys than girls. I have a few close female friends, but I've always spent more of my time with guys. (It should also be noted than none of these guys were ever boyfriends. I had two boyfriends in college, neither of which had any interest in sports. They were too indie rock for sports, and this eventually led me back to single life. When you realize you'd rather be watching Sportscenter than making out, you know the relationship is pretty much over.)

Being a girl that wears skirts and makeup and loves nothing more than spending a Saturday night watching a hockey game over pizza and beer is extremely difficult. Most people seem to think that women who like sports have to look a certain way, and skirts, makeup, and stiletto heels don't usually fit into that stereotype. Anyway, things have been this way since I can remember. It was a normal day of 2nd grade the first time I realized that boys and girls were not viewed the same way when sports were involved. I was outside for recess dressed in a pair of jeans and my brand new Flyers jacket. A boy in my class ran over to me, pulled my hair, yelled “Girls don’t like hockey” in my face, and ran away laughing. He most likely forgot about the incident by the end of the day. But 17 years later, I still remember his name and the incident with remarkable clarity.

Years later I was in junior high and I had finally found a female friend who loved sports as much as I. We frequented card shows and whenever a local athlete was making an appearance, we were first in line. There obviously aren't a lot of women at sports collectibles shows, so I wasn't offended at the occasional stare. But I was not willing to put up with the one thing we heard at nearly every single show we attended.

“So...which player do you two ladies think is the cutest?”

(Yes, women do think athletes are sexy. I won't lie. There have been many sex dreams about Jason Varitek, and I would be more than willing to let Doug Mientkiewicz father my children. But why must that automatically mean I don’t know how to calculate a pitcher’s ERA?)

In college it was no different. My reputation as a sports junkie followed me, and I'd always be the girl in the kitchen at parties debating Leon Stickle's non-call of offsides in Game 6 of the 1980 Islanders-Flyers Cup Finals, or arguing that the Rangers would never be successful as long as Neil Smith was the GM. For me, that was more enjoyable than huddling around the keg with my girlfriends, talking about my latest bikini wax. But it left me confused and, most of the time, alone. It created strain between my girlfriends and I. They saw me as a traitor; why would I rather talk about football than weddings and boy troubles? And the guys saw me as a great friend who could hopefully introduce them to my hot friends over by the keg.

[I should point out, now, that I am generalizing for the sake of discussion. I have had boyfriends and friends that could appreciate my ability to love both skirts and sports (including the guy at the wedding last night), but I still have found that these kinds of men are in the minority. So if you are one of them, thank you. Carry on. It’s the others I'm worried about.]

It's no coincidence that today I work at a sports-talk radio station. When I got the job I thought I was in heaven. I was finally surrounded by people who knew sports, and who would talk to me like a human being. Or so I thought. Once when I inquired why there were no women on the air, I was told that “men like to think of women in a certain way, and women talking about sports doesn't fit in with that.” Since then, I have found a handful of guys at work who will talk to me like I'm an intelligent human being, and I appreciate them more than they will ever know. But there is still the contingent that smirks after I share a sports opinion, as if everything I say is followed by a pink asterisk, because they can’t believe that sentence came out of a girl’s mouth.

From what I can tell, and again, I'm generalizing for the sake of discussion, guys prefer the kind of girls who like sports on a social level. The perfect girlfriend is the one who won’t complain when you want to watch the baseball game with the guys – but she wouldn’t have any interest in being involved. If forced, she could sit through a game, could recognize a double play, and could probably even name each position on the field. But that’s where it ends. She would never form her own opinions about the game, and would certainly never, under any circumstances, remark that while Pokey Reese’s defense is superior, it’s hard not to play Bellhorn at 2nd because of his impressive OBP.

My question is: why?

A guy called into the radio station once and told the story of his college girlfriend. She was a total knockout, and the relationship seemed to be perfect. That is, until they sat down to watch a hockey game. She remarked that the Stars seemed to have a problem killing penalties, since they had given up 10 power play goals in their last 5 games. He broke up with her a week later because, as he put it, “I could never make out with her again. She threw out that stat, and all of a sudden, this hot woman was just one of the guys.”

That completely blew me away. I was always aware that liking sports made me different, but I had never heard it spoken that liking sports made women unattractive.

And I'm not sure where this fits in, but there's another variable that interests me. Message boards have brought this to my attention, but it's the same in conversation. As soon as a woman mentions that an athlete is attractive, she ceases to be a knowledgeable sports mind, in the eyes of most men. “Oh, you're THAT kind of sports fan,” they say. But just because someone has a vagina doesn't mean she can't define ‘ground rule double.’

I guess I want two things from this discussion. This subject fascinates me, and I’d love to have a better understanding of what men think. What is your first impression of a woman who clearly knows just as much about sports as you do? What don't you like about the idea of having an in-depth discussion with your girlfriend about the Flyers' goaltending situation?

I'd also like to talk to women that have gone through similar things. Because let's face it, I enjoy talking sports with guys, but sometimes it's nice to be able to talk about how amazing Billy Mueller's 9th inning homerun off Mariano Rivera was, as well as how good he looked running the bases.

Yesterday on the way home from work I was at a red light behind a car bearing a sticker that read "I Fucked Your Girlfriend."

It was located directly above a sticker featuring a girl on all fours, colored in with a confederate flag design, and the words "Southern Style."

Seriously.
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I was reading a fashion magazine today, and was struck by how everything, and I mean everything comes back in style eventually. Thus, it's list time.

things I will never wear, no matter how "in-style" they are:
ankle boots
sweatpants (can you imagine a time when sweat pants are in style?)
tapered jeans
fur
a cape (no shit. there's a page on how to wear "knit capelets" in the new issue of lucky mag. I couldn't even make this shit up.)
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Taken from today's Boston Globe:

What helped him in the lowest of times, El Bencho said, was his friendship with Gabe Kapler, who sits next to him in the Sox clubhouse. They each have autographed color photos of the other hanging in their lockers.

El Bencho may be a total jackass, and he may not have any idea how to keep his mouth shut, but it's things like this that make this team so damn loveable.
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On Wednesday I'm going to see a screening of Finding Neverland. A story about the creation of Peter Pan and Johnny Depp with a British accent? Yes, please.
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Kapler, Youkilis...at this point, I think there are as many Jews on the Sox are there are here in Texas. Mazel Tov.
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Sox game on in 15 minutes. Something tells me I'll be taking a long lunch break today.

Red Sox 13
Devil Rays 1
3rd Inning

ok, fine, I surrender. I give up. After months of give and take, I have made myself completely vulnerable to the heartbreak that always greets a Sox fan in the fall. The Sox are smallballing the Devil Rays to death, their defense looks more solid than it has all season, Tek and Mueller are finally hot, El Bencho went yard, and for the 5 zillionth time this season, I am completely in love with this Boston Red Sox team.



(I should be concerned that beating the piss out of the Devil Rays in August feels this good, but I'm ignoring those thoughts.)



And from SoSH's game thread, this made me laugh so it's worth reposting. Following a Youkilis RBI single:

And Youks says, "Anything Mueller can do, I can do pretty much equally. But more Jewish."

time for some non-baseball related content.

I am getting more and more excited for Austin City Limits. It's now a month away and we still have no complete line-up or schedule, but among the bands we'll be seeing:
modest mouse / the killers / franz ferdinand / spoon / cat power / elvis costello / the pixies / the roots / josh rouse / wilco / centro-matic / broken social scene / old 97s / and hopefully, many more...

I'm still disappointed that Morrissey didn't end up touring this summer when Lollapalooza got cancelled. It's been too long since I saw a middle-aged gay man in a brown pleather sailor suit...I'm getting restless.

I missed the Braid reunion tour. Apparently they played Dallas while I was in Boston. Damn. I love you Bob Nanna.

According to the National Association of Broadcasters' Monthly Calendar, yesterday was National Duran Duran Appreciation Day. To celebrate, I listened to Wild Boys on repeat and teased my hair.


things that are making me happy:
wild rice veggie soup mix from whole foods' bulk aisle
natural peanut butter
garbenburger meatballs (with a little bit of garlic salt and italian seasoning, which reminds me...)
Italian seasoning from Central Market's bulk seasonings
sox games on mlb.tv
coconut lime verbena lotion from bath & body works


other good news: it's almost football season. despite my best efforts to not get sucked in and crushed by the Eagles once again, I can't help myself. Though, it's scary that, essentially, unless they win the Super Bowl this year (or christ, at least make it there), the season will have been a failure. Seriously, how many years in a row can you really lose the NFC Championship Game? At home?

If ESPN chose the most frustrated sports fan in America, how could I not win? A fan of the Flyers/Eagles/Sixers/Red Sox/Phillies? Is there a fan alive with a group of teams that have a higher collective payroll with less championships to show for it? Help me out here, boys. I'm looking at you, Red Sox.


Shit. It always comes back to baseball.

This has been an extremely inconsistent, frustrating red sox season. 50% of the time, they come out looking like they did last night: bats on fire, solid decisions from Sveum and Francoma, strong pitching in crucial situations, and a handful of outstanding defensive plays that steal a run or two. The other 50% of the time, the games resemble that of Monday's night's loss: the Sox look completely flat. Call it what you will: uninspired, underachieving, slumping...they just look flat.

Of course, their record is only 4 games or so worse than it was at this time last season. Given the improvement of so many teams in their league, they're really not any worse than they were last year. So why all of the sleepless nights in Red Sox Nation?


Here's the lineup that had all of us celebrating during the off-season:
C Jason Varitek
1B El Bencho
2B Pokey Reese/Mark Bellhorn
3B Bill Mueller
SS Nomar Garciaparra
LF Manny Ramirez
CF Johnny Damon
RF Trot Nixon
DH David Ortiz

Rotation:
Pedro
Schilling
Lowe
Wakefield
Kim


Just typing it now makes my mouth water. Now, here's the lineup as of mid-August:
C Jason Varitek
1B Doug Mint-cave-itch
2B Billy Mueller
3B Kevin Youkilis
SS Orlando Cabrera
LF Manny Ramirez
CF Johnny Damon
RF Gabe Kapler / El Bencho
DH David Ortiz

Not to mention, God knows the pitching rotation hasn't exactly been what we thought it would. Some of the additions have been a nice surprise (see: Kevin Youkilis), but the lineup is still, as a whole, a huge drop from what we all thought it would be in March.

Fuck you, high expectations.



All of that said, last night's game was extremely enjoyable. I personally think that homeruns are overrated*, and I'd much prefer to see my team rally for 5 hard-earned runs with a collection of singles and doubles. Last night was smallball at its finest, and all with 2 outs. Tek had an outstanding night (finally!) and Arroyo got the outs when he needed them. They looked like last year's team in that they simply refused to lose. Twice they gave up a lead only to storm right back onto the field and recapture it.

I also made a decision last night. I've been trying to hold off on any rash proclamations, but I believe I've waited long enough.

I. Fucking. Love. Doug. Mint-cave-itch.

The solid defense, the dirt dog attitude in the field, the good looks (sue me, I'm a woman)...it's all there. He's just one game-winning homerun away from being one of my favorite Red Sox.



*Homeruns are overrated, unless they come in the bottom of the 9th against Mariano Rivera. In that case, all bets are off.

the shins - pink bullets

random thoughts for a lazy sunday.

How many men in spandex is too many? It was confirmed yesterday at our radio station's bike rally that being surrounded by 600 men in spendex makes eye contact extremely important.

For some reason, I have become quite fond of the word "betwixt."

Does anyone over the age of 12 use the term "french kiss?" Do 12 year-olds even still use it or has it become completely outdated?

I love knowing that I probably drive the only Toyota Camry on the planet that is decorated with a Skull and Crossbones air freshener. How many pirates drive Camrys? Not enough, is the correct answer.

Pedro was on fire last night. 7 innings, 11 strikeouts, one earned run, and the W.

I have apparently scored tickets to the Eagles/Cowboys Monday night game here in November. I'll be going with my boss, who is a Cowboys fan, and two other people I work with. It's a Promotions Department outing, if you will. Should be interesting. I will bring the noise.

After a brief discussion a few posts ago concerning women who love sports, I think this is something that needs more exploring. The following things interest me: Why do I love sports so much? Why do we all love sports so much? Why do so few women love sports? Why is it hard for men to accept women who are knowledgeable and passionate about sports? Sadly, I'm way too exhausted to get into this today. But it's coming....

And this.

DEARBORN, Mich. (AP) - Charlie Daniels will not perform a song criticized by
Arab-Americans when he appears at a weekend festival in this Detroit-area
community, the center of southeastern Michigan's 300,000-member
Arab-American community.

Daniels wrote and recorded "This Ain't No Rag, It's a Flag" after the Sept.
11 terror attacks. It became a country hit, but critics said it refers to a
slur against Arabs.

The song begins: "This ain't no rag, it's a flag and we don't wear it on our
heads. It's a symbol of the land where the good guys live. Are you listening
to what I said?"

"Ragheads" is a derogatory term for Arabs, Muslims and others who wear
turbans or cover their heads.


That song became a country hit. A hit! It's times like these that I'm really proud to be an American.

that. was. atrocious.

It's no secret that radio promotions doesn't pay all that well, and it's also no secret that I have a car payment, college loans, and a few other monthly bills. So what does a girl do to ease the pain of not being rich?

She buy tickets and books a flight to go see the Red Sox play the Orioles in Baltimore in their final series of the season.


I have serious problems.


But life is about experiences and memories, not money. And if I die at 30, I'll have some pretty good memories.


(Yes, I know, if I live to be 85 I'll be just like that blue-haired, toothless grandma that slept in her own urine outside my college dorm in Boston. But I'm not worrying about that right now. Check back in with me in 60 years.)

first the sports.

The Sox looked great last night with their minor league lineup against the Devil Rays. Lots of chances for their defense to screw up, but they kept it together, except McCarty's dropped pop-up, which I'll let slide since he did hit a three run homer. Anyway, they're a half-game behind Texas in the wild-card race (seriously. behind the rangers. the texas rangers) and nine or so behind the MFYs. Ideally, the Rangers would fall apart but still manage to creep into the playoffs by winning their division. That would most likely require a last-minute choke on the part of Oakland, and no one knows how possible that is better than Sox fans. (Thank you, again, Oakland.) Then the Sox would meet the Rangers in the playoffs, and we all know how that would end. The Rangers' pitching is far too shaky to take them deep in the playoffs, and what's better - Maureen and I would be at all of the games, seeking sweet, sweet redemption against the Rangers fans that let us know just how excited they were after that awful birthday weekend sweep. Ahhh, spoken like a true bitter Sox fan.


I was at the gym today, and right in front of my machine was a TV showing Oprah and her special guest, Lionel Richie. I won't lie...I know all the words to "Say You, Say Me," but that doesn't mean I want to watch Oprah overlaugh at all of his jokes. So I asked if anyone minded if I changed the channel, and when no one did, I put on ESPN. There were three guys on machines behind me, and they all looked at me as if I had sprouted a second head. This, along with some coworkers' recent comments, has me wondering: Is it really so strange for girls to love sports? More specifically, is it really so strange for girls who wear skirts and occasionally put on makeup to love and understand sports? And why are men so scared of such girls? Someone please explain. This fascinates me.


Ooh, one more sports note. I don't know what I would do with SoSH's Game Threads. Granted, I don't have access to post or anything, but it's the closest thing I have to watching Sox games with other Sox fans here in Texas...not including Maureen. Thank god I found another heartbroken bitter red sox fan in this gigantic city.


Current obsessions: (And yes, most of them involve food. I can't help it. I'm a 300 pound man inside a 125 pound girl's body.)
~ginger sesame salad dressing from whole foods
~my new favorite salad creation: mixed greens, chick peas, mushrooms, red onion, peppers, and feta cheese
~orowheat health nut bread
~reading blogs that belong to total strangers
~white nail polish
~homegrown tomatoes
~googling the names of people I knew in high school
~MLB TV
~Piranha's crunchy tuna roll


If anyone has Trio TV, they're showing a special called "Texas: America Supersized" throughout the entire month of August. It apparently takes a look at how the lonestar state is redefining the state of America. Should be fascinating.


Why do they keep office buildings so cold? I've heard something about increased production, but I think that's horseshit. It takes me twice as long to type with gloves on. Seriously, today I am sitting at my computer wearing a miniskirt, a t-shirt, and gloves. Something is wrong with this picture.

one more Nomar post and I'm moving on.

Red Sox Nation seems to have divided into two parts: the anti-Nomar camp that feel that he was a cancer in the clubhouse who was probably exaggerating his injury and had to be traded, and the pro-Nomar camp that are swayed by their emotional attachment to one of the best players RSN has ever seen and feel that the man could do no wrong.

(There's lots of history and hearsay here, which I won't dwell on. See the 8/1 Gammons thread on SoSH for backstory.)

Anyway, the first problem is that neither of these two opinions are correct. The truth most likely lies somewhere in the middle, with both Sox management and Nomar making mistakes that led to the disintigration of their relationship. But when controversial things happen, it's only natural for the masses to align with one extreme opinion or another. So I can let that slide.

But what is really aggravating me in this whole mess is how no one has called Nomar on his incredibly selfish attitude. Let's simplify: This guy was treated like a King in Boston since he arrived. No one could have asked for a better career; his bat was on fire, the city worshipped him, everything seemed to be perfect. Fast forward to the Nomar contract talks. The Sox offer him 4 years at 60 million dollars - not exactly a raw deal. Nomar turns it down, which essentially tells management that Nomar is not the "I'll do whatever it takes to stay in Boston" kinda guy. (If the rumors about Nomar's miserable attitude in the clubhouse are tue, this would even further cement this in management's mind.) They know that with several other key Sox players on the fringe of free agency, they can't offer him more money. Fast forward. When it becomes apparent that A-Rod, the best shortstop in the game, is available, the Sox publicly attempt to work a trade with the Rangers. Nomar hears about said trade talks while on his Honeymoon and takes the time to call into a Boston radio station to make it known how insulted and hurt he is. This is the point when Red Sox fans should have been seriously questioning this guy's motives. Take off the Nomar-colored glasses for one second and realize that this is a business. These guys play a sport for a living and get paid shittons of money to do it. Trade talks are common; sometimes they work out, sometimes they don't. Great players are traded all the time...because no matter how good you are, your team can probably always get something equally as good or better in return. Nomar, you turned down 4 years at $60 million from a team that you claim to love...a team that has 3, now 4, top players to resign. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

(It should also be noted somewhere that Nomar's play hasn't been quite the same since midway through last year. He had a weak October in 2003 and his post-injury play in 2004 has been subpar defensively, to say the least. I don't know where it fits in here, but it's something to keep in mind when considering Nomar's hurt feelings at the thought of being replaced.)

Let's look at Manny Ramirez..the anti-Nomar. During this past off-season, the Sox put Manny on waivers...if you want Manny, he's yours for the taking. Except no one did. Not with that enormous contract and the constantly-chronicled attitude problems. The national media were giddy with the idea that when the season began, Manny would be disruptive and problematic. And what happens? Manny sees the light, undergoes an attitude make over, and becomes a media darling and a clubhouse favorite.

No one knows at what point Nomar decided Boston wasn't for him. No one knows why exactly he turned down that $60 million contract. No one knows how bad his injury really is, and how much time he told the Sox trainers he'd miss.

But a few things are clear. Curt Schilling signed with Boston for less money than other teams would have given him. He cited the fans, and the passionate GM, and the city's fervor for the game. Gabe Kapler chose a backup position with the Sox over a starting job with a less talent-stocked team, citing the amazing relationships in the clubhouse and the excitement of playing in a city like Boston. Jason Varitek is quoted as saying "I don't want to go anywhere. I want to stay here" when he assumed he had been traded to the Dodges at the deadline.

Nomar, on the other hand, turned down $60 million to keep playing baseball in a city that worshipped him, on a team that always had a chance at the playoffs, for fans he claimed were the best in the league, for a group of management that proved this past offseason they're dedicated to winning.

No one will dispute how great of a player Nomar was. He was the most beloved Sox player in years, he became the face of the team...the face of the city. But the ease with which so many Red Sox fans just overlook Nomar's role in this whole mess is absolutely mindblowing.

It was time for Nomar to go. He wasn't happy in Boston, he was miserable in the clubhouse, and his performance wasn't anywhere near what it was a couple of years ago. (as I type this, these words come out of Jerry Remy's mouth: "He was always unhappy. Always completely miserable.") I'm not sad to see him go, but an era is over and that will take some getting used to. still, words can't explain how happy I am not to have to hear the word "Nomie" anymore.

And hey, I got to see Nomar's last game at Fenway. He went 1 for 5. Lovely.

In regards to the trade, I'll hold off on the knee-jerk reactions that seem to be flooding SoSH and the rest of RSN. But let's hope first at-bats are a sign of things to come. In his first at-bat with the cubs, Nomar swung at the first pitch (shocking) and hit into a DP. Cabrera, on the other hand, gave the Sox a 1-0 lead with a solo shot in the 1st.

Meanwhile, Jason Varitek is knee deep in an ugly slump. His strikeouts are ending innings left and right. If this team is going to make a wild card run, he needs to start hitting. Now.

It's the homestretch of the baseball season and football starts in a couple of weeks. I've almost forgotten that there won't be a hockey season next year. Almost.